


Nature, Sunshine, Freedom, Yourself

by snarkengaged



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkengaged/pseuds/snarkengaged
Summary: Just a collection of small works written about my synth-replacement Sole Survivor, Sunshine Solomon. Generally out of order, but given Sunny's situation, maybe that's in character.





	1. Mutual Admiration

**Author's Note:**

> Sunshine Solomon and Preston Garvey talk.

Sunshine hated visiting the Castle.

It wasn’t the humidity or the constant sound of the waves-she was used to that. She’d just constructed yet another settlement along a beach, up Nordhagen way. There was something wonderful about arming a line of turrets along the water and internally daring Lurks to try their luck. While you were out there, standing in the cold surf up to your knees with your hands on your hips, you could just stare out into the horizon, and pretend the bombs had never dropped, if you ignored your geiger counter ticking. The location had it’s advantages.

It was just that, well-the place was crawling with Minutemen. It wasn’t fair, probably, to hold that against good old Independence. It was _technically_ their base, even if she did remember old museum tours.

She still wasn’t quite sure how she’d gone from Clueless Babbling Woman With Dog, to General Solomon Who Fought Deathclaws, in such a short time. Preston was a menace. How could a man so _bad_ at lying be so good at convincing you to do anything?

“General, may I-can we talk?” Speak of…well, certainly no devil.

Sunshine, sprawled on a bunk, after the initial moment of being startled to attention, lifted her forearm from her face. Preston-always the gentleman-lingered outside the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. It was difficult to see his face with his hat brim blocking the meager light the single bulb in the room provided, but just the silhouette of him was comforting, put her at ease. He was the only Minuteman who she always had time for, even if he did always have her running her damned legs off.

She sat up, cringing at a muscle in her lower back protesting. _You didn’t have to be this thorough about aping humanity, guys._ “Of course. Please,” she indicated the chair next to the bed, “make yourself at home.”

He sat down, but shuffled awkwardly in his seat after a moment, clearly uncomfortable. Not for the first time, Sunshine thought about how young he was for his position, and her heart hurt for him again. He wasn't a child, by any means, but she didn't know how people grew up out here. What was healthy, at the end of the world? Who did Preston talk to, aside from her? She hadn’t been around very long herself, of course, but she felt every second of the age she was supposed to be. He seemed about as comfortable in his own skin as she was in hers. “In your own time, no need to rush,” she said quietly, glancing at the doorway instinctively, and then checking it twice.

He seemed to relax, but not entirely. Whatever was bothering him was something big. Sunshine tried to project casual reassurance, but she was at a loss for how to do that. _Oh boy, General. Get ready._

“Please understand, I hold you in the highest respect. You helped the Minutemen get back on our feet when no one else thought we could.” His voice was quiet. It carried the cadence of lines practiced. “You also personally helped me believe I had something to offer the world again. You showed me that I wasn’t a failure, despite Quincy.” Preston’s hands were twisting, just barely perceptible, in his lap. It was unusual to see her second-in-command so unsure of himself, but when it came to personal matters, he lost the assurance command gave him. It was the only reason she was holding this spot for him, until he was ready for it, if she was honest with herself. Sunshine wanted to reach out to him, but he seemed so focused that she didn’t want to derail him.

“You have done so much good, General, that I have seen with my own eyes. More in the short time since you got out of the Vault, than most people do their whole lives. You have helped so many, despite your own troubles. You are…a good person.”

Sunshine struggled to remain composed.“I-thank you, Preston. But you were the one who made me think that wasn’t a crazy notion to have out here in the first place,” she replied awkwardly. Sunshine felt slightly panicky. She didn’t handle direct compliments well-she felt too focused upon with them. Preston’s sincerity-which was usually nothing but endearing and charming-lent a weight to his words that was difficult to ignore. “Yet I think I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

Preston nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Like I said-I think that you are a good person. That you take difficult situations and difficult people and try to do your best with what you’ve got. But, ma’am-that Deacon guy’s got trouble written all over him.”

Sunshine blew out a breath, relieved to think about her asshole of a partner instead of something icky and emotional. “You’re damn right he does,” Sunshine muttered dourly.

“I’m not joking around, General. I believe _you_ mean well, trying to recruit him and…whoever he’s with.” Preston carefully looked at her, finally.

Her heart sank. _Shit_. That put him in danger just by itself. She thought she’d been so careful. The part of her that seemed to have Deacon’s voice these days said, _I told you so_.

“Now, I haven’t been asking questions, because you vouched for him privately when I asked you, and, like I said-I respect you, and I know you can do some frankly miraculous things with very little. But, I’ve got to ask again. There are a lot of people who need you to be around, and if…his group starts tangling with dangerous elements, and you get roped in, innocents are going to get hurt. _You_ ’ve got a face, General.”

The silence when Preston finished was deafening.

“How long have you known?” Sunshine found herself asking. Her voice sounded very far away. _Does he know I’m_ -

Preston shifted, his arms crossed. “Not very long. We were getting reports of very particular hardware passing through places, you mentioned some places you’d been. It all seemed to add up.”

Damn coursers. Damn squads. Damn.

“And what would your advice be, where my conscience is concerned? You say you respect me-but it’s always been mutual, Preston. What would you do in my place?” Sunshine leaned back on the mattress, suddenly exhausted. Preston’s eyes followed her. She tried to ignore it.

He was good, handsome, and sad. They had had some…well. Things had happened, both less and more than she’d like. But like all things and all relationships here in the Wasteland, it was a lot more complicated than her memories had indicated they should be. Nothing was simple or as it seemed out here.

Maybe someday, they’d figure it out, but for now, they needed each other exactly as they were. She wondered if she’d forgotten that was a two-way street, off gallivanting on rooftops with Deacon, getting shot at and laughing as they saved synths. Deacon was all lies, smoke and mirrors, even if he was all goodness too. It was easy to forget the amount of failures the Railroad had, because of it’s compartmentalized nature. The Minutemen were something else-and stood for more. Preston represented something bigger that often seemed insurmountable most ways she looked at it.

Damn it all if she didn’t miss Piper and her small time paper right now.

Preston considered his answer. “I think…I’d do the right thing, and that’s-the right thing isn’t always just in the big ways you help people. You’ve got opportunities to help on the big picture, and in the small details. But I’d be careful, General. And I wouldn’t trust Deacon.” He snorted. “I’d also consider more trips to the surgeon, though…” he faltered. “I’d miss that face.” He huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and stared through the floor like he wanted to disappear through it.

Sunshine felt ridiculous, felt giddy-she was at least kind’ve a mother. She was a version of _someone's_ mother. But, it was nice. “I’ll take that into consideration.” Preston got up to go, hurriedly, like he still wanted to get away from his own earnest flirtation. “And, Preston-don’t worry about Deacon.”

He looked at her, eyebrow raised incredulously. “Should I not? He seems to have y..you two seem close," he finished flatly. 

Sunny couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face. “You sure your interest is entirely for the sake of the Minutemen, Mr. Garvey?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Preston replied quickly, spinning his hat along it’s brim in his hands. She noticed it picked up when she flirted back. “You know I have no issues with Piper, or…whatever you've got going on with Curie, or Magnolia down in Goodneighbor. I just-" Preston sighed. "I know you’re trusting, General, and you move the world for the people you care about. And I think…” he hesitated. “I think Deacon knows that. Just, be careful, ma’am.”

Preston gave a short nod of the head, put his hat back on, and was off down the hallway. Sunshine could almost see his shoulders square up as he returned to a more comfortable, less personal, place.

She sat back down on the bed, stared at her boots as she considered going for a walk along the beach outside the wall. Maybe get some light scavenging in, stare at that skyline.

_Don’t worry, Preston. I’m not sure if I trust him, either._


	2. Coming Clean

Sunshine hasn't told Preston or Piper yet. She doesn't know if she'll be able to, having seen how people here act. 

She remembers when she'd told Deacon. It had, after all, been the first time she'd met him, or so she thinks. It almost certainly wasn't. Between his lies and her-confusion, as Piper so politely calls it, her tone softened because she loves her-

Desdemona and Drummer and Glory have their guns trained on her. They're interrogating her, beneath that crumbled old church. She'd never been in a church before she'd crawled her way into this one. Bobbi-the one before-she'd never been one to even attend synagogue that often, and _she_ hadn't had to fight ghouls to go. 

“Why are you here?” Desdemona’s voice is stern and quiet. Not necessarily hostile, she knows-but it could be. Couldn't it? The catacombs echo with sounds that can’t be there.

Sunshine knows they’re there. She can hear a door opening, somewhere, or the ghost of a sound. The impact of a thud somewhere nearby. Her neck and brow are covered in a cold sweat. How does she do that? She has never felt so close to death, whatever that means. Does that mean she's alive? If only she hadn't had to kill so many to be here-Bobbi Solomon most of all. 

She’d been following that secret red line alone-it _had_ to be alone, don’t you get it, no one can follow. No one can know. They all know. Doggedly pursuing a whisper on an audio tape that had stopped her heart or had stopped whatever was in there-

‘S _ynths are not your enemies!_ ’

She had crawled through the skeletal remains of Boston, through the remains of a dead woman’s old home, through memories that didn't-fit-but they must! They must because there wasn't anything else there! If there was nothing there, then she might fill it, and what if-if it wasn't her's, then-

This woman, this...Roberta Solomon, this woman who'd studied human rights and corporate ethics-she'd killed her. She hadn't been alive but she'd killed her. She remembered the V.T. men shooting her, yelling. The pain-the agony of it! Who could be shot and not die, and for-for a coverup? The world was on fire and no one would survive, who-but that was Bobbi, that was Bobbi dying, Bobbi in hysterics that she was-

Sunshine remembered them carrying her down into the Vault, the assurances that her family would be safe. Not her's-Roberta's. She remembered Bobbi's terror-Bobbi hadn't believed them, not for a second, and Sunshine knew she'd have liked that quick Roberta Solomon very much. But then she'd-she started to go-

Sunny thinks she's haunted, there, under the church. She's had to hide in this corpse for how long, and just hope-daven-that the eyes wouldn't give her away. She's babbling, she can see it on their faces, barely, over the spotlights. She talks faster. 

So, she'd followed that blood red line to fight that thing-the monster in the lake. A behemoth who’d nearly drowned her and she’d wondered, as she'd gagged, _Can I even drown?_

But something in her had answered and fought. She'd lived, or something, just to stand here and be questioned. She’d fought to not die there, so she could die here. She had to be questioned. She had to be questioned, so that she could answer.

No one had asked her any questions, after the first one. When would they?

What if it was Piper-honest, beautiful Piper, who always has a knack for uncovering secrets?

What if it was Preston, and he had to find out-after Quincy had tried to beat the good and the gentle out of him, after hearing of University Point?

What would she do? When would they ask?

Sunshine didn’t want to die here. This was-this wasn't _Bobbi's_ world, out there-

She still remembered dying once already. Even if it was secret, even if only the people in this room knew-and there was a new one, towards the back there, with glasses-well, guess he got to be an unwitting confidante. She hoped he liked honesty.

Desdemona sighed, when Sunshine had stopped for a breath. “My patience is growing thin, Miss-?"

“Please, please," Sunshine sobbed, something plaintive and loud. No matter, the dark will swallow her secret. "Let me help. I wanted to find the Railroad. I’m a synth. Please. I’ll do anything. Let me help.”

_Help me. Please help me._


	3. What's Due You

Sunshine knew this had to be her own world, if only because Bobbi was dead. She’d thought it when she'd come clean with the Railroad, and said it to Nick when he’d been agonizing after the events with Eddie Winter, and maybe both times she hadn’t quite believed it then. But like most things, it took her saying it for her to even start thinking about it, really. Some wires were crossed somewhere, because that was backwards. Think it, say it, and then think about it really.

It was Commonwealth reasoning that led her to the conclusion. No competition meant she was ceded it by rights, she thought with a grim twist of humour. The part of her that remembered inheritance law-the part of Bobbi that had been a voracious consumer of any and all knowledge, no matter how trivial-cringed at that. The memory, hazily remembered, of a lesson on Zelophehad’s daughters…or was it at Roberta’s mother’s kitchen table, the one with the benches rather than chairs? Bobbi’s memories of her parents were always in that kitchen, the brightest room in the house.

She didn’t remember any of the other rooms to compare, but she knew that was the one. 

Childhood memories from someone else were frequently chilling, and suffered the worst in the transition from original to the copy. Hazy already where they belonged, they became a murky, unintelligible mess that Sunshine found treacherous and painful to wander.

It’d taken all of a moment upon waking in that Vault to realize she wasn’t just carrying Bobbi’s ghost, but all the people who’d haunted Bobbi, too. And Roberta Solomon had had a lot of boogeyman who hadn’t liked the conclusion of cases, and a lot of victims who’d never stop haunting a good person who hadn’t been able to do enough. Howie and Shaun were another story entirely, and not one Sunshine wanted to examine except to bring it to a close.

But even that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Because there was still the part of her that ached when she remembered Shaun’s tiny toes, his twinkling dark eyes, his tiny snorts when he’d sleep in his crib. She remembered the pride and frustration Bobbi’d felt when Howie’d marched for campaigns for “the cause of the week”, time and again, after being "relieved" of service, even with his leg acting up. Like he hadn't had enough on his plate, with anti-war demonstrations and the fallout of-what had happened when he'd served. Sunny didn't know what had happened, but Bobbi had.

Codsworth had given her that holotape, and she’d only listened to it once. It didn’t feel like someone else’s memories when they hurt. 

Sunshine often thought (pettily, before regretting it viscerally in her heart, _I didn’t mean it, Bobbi_ ) there was no worse person to have as a baseline for who you were than a good busybody who couldn’t let go. 


	4. Rolling Through

Sunshine stared at the toy, her hands in her coat pockets. The weak light filtering in through the shed’s dirty windows painted the chipped yellow of the Buttercup with swirls of shadow.

Nick came in behind her, his hat in his hands. He always made the effort to courteously greet everyone at the Slog, so Sunny’d had a minute to compose herself in Arlen’s workshed. The detective lived up to his profession-he went still, and seemed to piece together the scene in a moment.

Sunshine felt him glance at her, rather than saw it. She couldn’t look away from the toy horse. Her hands were clenched in her pockets. She felt _exhausted_ by this wasteland.

Nick walked towards the table on which the toy had been placed, brushing her shoulder with his own. It was a small shed, after all. His back to her, she saw his mechanical hand pick up the note that had been left, and there was a nearly imperceptible nod after a moment.

Valentine sighed. “You alright, Sunshine?”

She thought of another shrunken old man, excitedly building a rocking horse for a grandson he’d see twice before everything went to shit. She shrugged, though making the effort to be casual was hard. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll worry about him. It’s rough out here.”

“You want me to look into it?”

She looked at the note in Nick’s hand, pondered the words _‘For a child who needs it.’_

“…No. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

They walked out of the shed, headed toward the road. Sunshine waved an absent hand at the guard, who nodded and went back to looking south. Nick’s trench coat twisted around him in the wind, and the two synths disappeared into the dark.


	5. Fakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine goes to the Institute. (Note: when I wrote this I had just gotten to this part in the game, and it's been...awhile since I played this section. There may be inaccuracies. Chalk it up to Sunny being Sunny.)

“You were not supposed to exist, you know,” Father said kindly, from around the glass cubicle.

Sunshine didn’t look at him, and didn’t move towards him. Instead, she focused on the child who stood, horrible and unmoving, behind the glass. His still dark eyes, wide in the terror she had made him feel before Father had activated his recall code, made her feel sick. She knew what he’d felt, though she hadn’t had the words or the code for it. She consciously did not let herself touch the glass. 

Her shame burned in her, her embarrassment at her hysterics only cowed by the shock of what was happening. How did this happen to Shaun? How did she let this happen? 

_Bobbi, forgive me._

“Neither was your mother,” she replied. She surprised herself-didn’t know she had that kind’ve cruelty in her, but apparently it was there after all. She wiped her eyes, and looked at him. “I know you said you read the reports, but reports don’t trump the memories. Your mother was dead before the bombs even fell, Shaun. She died a hero-one that was supposed to be forgotten by my creation. But make no mistake-your mother and I, we were never supposed to exist. And that failure was deliberate on the part of the people who killed her, and their ilk, who kidnapped a child and left his parents to die in a fucking tomb.”

Father was still, his face a mask. He horrified her. “My father’s death, as I said before, was a tragic accident. As was my mother’s. Your memories, fragmented as they are, are clouded by misplaced passion.”

Sunny wondered dimly if he noticed she was shaking.

“Their deaths were no accidents, Shaun. They both died trying to save people, and the lies you’ve been told-” or told yourself,“-have been in service of companies who thought a lofty goal was worth killing people. And though you may not realize it, you _were_ one of the people most hurt.”

Sunshine was…exhausted. She wasn’t his mother, and she didn’t know how to talk to him. Her only comfort was she didn’t think Bobbi would have known how to deal with this cold man, either. She probably would have shouted more. 

“You know, I assume, what I am?” she asked dully. 

Father nodded. “Of course. It was theorized when the Institute retrieved me and found only one pod functional. Kellog’s testimony was extraordinary, I have to admit. If you ever want to see it,” he motioned towards the terminal with a certain sparkle in his eye,“we have it on record. From his description, I imagine you coming for him might have been the closest thing to a ghost story the Commonwealth's ever known.” He sighed. “But, I digress. I understand attempts at contact were made several times while you were still in shutdown, only for the teams sent to be…rebuffed by the savagery of the Commonwealth.”

She crossed her arms. “Then I assume you know that by value of my creation, your own kidnapping as a small child was meaningless, and thus, all the tragedy that it cost.”

He hesitated for the first time. “I believe…that is a very simplistic view of the dire situation the Commonwealth finds itself in. You posit that the creation of a synth would lead to the creation of all synths; this is either poor logic, or an extremely shallow attempt to goad me.”

Sunshine shook her head. “I never said anything about synths. I am talking about your family.”

She saw his confusion, even as subtle as it was, and it all came tumbling out of her.”I am talking about how a young boy lost his mother, and she was replaced, and it wasn’t enough for the old world. We have 'Old World Blues', all of us, but there was so much wrong-so much sickness, not just illness, in it. I am talking about the naked greed of all the companies who were responsible for your family falling apart-The CIT and it’s hazy connection with RobCo and Vault Tec and how, how out of that came me." She jabbed her chest with her finger, and felt a strange satisfaction when Father winced.

"-and the military and it’s ties with the Brotherhood now. All of it! I am talking, Shaun, about how they take, and they take, and they take, and even when they try to cover up their wrongdoing, when they could reasonably have gotten away with murdering your mother for threatening to blow wide their crimes…their desire to push and take just that _little bit more_ meant that their original crime and cover up wouldn't cut it. They had the gall to provide you and your father with an immoral safety net based on the very tech your mother saw fraught with injustices, and when it was advantageous to them, they ripped it away because they could. They did not care for you, your mother, your father, and certainly never for me. And I got caught following the trail, because your mom? Was all I had left."

Sunshine felt opened and exposed, like she had when she’d come clean to the Railroad. It wasn’t fair, for her to dump all this on the boy she’d come here to save-but then, he wasn’t a boy, and he didn’t need saving, and that was the kicker. She did not have it in her to be good-natured, despairing as she was now. “And now-now I'm here to rescue the kid I thought I was protecting, and I find out not only is he a grown man; not only is he the head of the Institute that I know has done wrong; but I come down into his home, covered with grime and blood and smoke, and you tell me that this clean and safe utopia you have built off of _fear_ is the future for all those scared, brave people that I have broken my back trying to help? This is the greediest place of them all, Shaun. They’ve got you hook, line and sinker.”


	6. What are you hiding?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine has gotten sick of Deacon's constant spy shit.

"Sunshine."

She knew _he_ knew he'd fucked up now. He didn't call her by her name unless he was panicky, no matter how easygoing the inflection. He sounded almost jolly. She wondered if he'd ever been this panicked with both of them this naked before. She's sure she'd remember. Sunshine suppressed a smile and kept folding the shirt in her hands, pausing at the sight of stains. 

"Listen, sweetheart, I think it's maybe a teensy bit of a possibility you're overreacting-"

She snorted, pursing her lips as she tossed the shirt aside. "I absolutely am not. You're lucky I don't tattoo your name on your forehead at this point," she replied absently. On second thought-

The shirt almost caught on the curtain rail as she threw it out the window. Deacon made a hurt sound.

"Where do you even _put_ all of these?" Sunshine continued, as she turned back to the bed, surveying the pile that was taking up her half. He'd been dozing when she'd decided this was the time to climb this argument. "Your ass definitely isn't big enough. Your mouth?"

"Cute! I see we're feeling tetchy today," Deacon grumbled, stretching. She ignored him. 

"I just don't understand. Do you-do you line your clothes with other clothes? How do you manage it? No wonder you never want to carry my ju- _supplies._ You're already carrying twice the amount you really should be anyway!"

She found a doctor's mask in the pile. Sunshine rolled her eyes before turning to him. Deacon lay on the bed, watching her beadily. At least, she assumed so. Damned sunglasses. 

"Alright, so I get the idea behind it. It's not a bad disguise in one of the cities or towns. But what the fuck would you do after you got in? What if someone needs medical attention? Wouldn't-I don't know, a traveling trader or your usual wanderer work better instead?"

"I totally used to work in gyno," he deadpans. "But the important thing is-the crux of the matter is-I need those disguises, Sunshine. You are clearly hurting the Railroad by getting rid of them. Not to sound needy, or typical, but I totally need them for work."

"Uh-huh. You do not."

"Yes, I do." He sits up, takes her hand in a manner almost reminiscent of a romantic gesture, and valiantly ignores her trying to tug it away, laughing. 

"I know your game, you fucking cheat. Stop trying to drag my hands away!"

"I'm an infiltrator, baby," he intones, "an agent of freedom in a cruel world. And I'm not sure if you've heard-ouch, quit it-but we're fighting a war here-"

"You're ridiculous, and a pack rat. No wonder you have back problems."

"I have back problems because I'm always bending over backwards for you, gorgeous. Like right now. I had that t-shirt for years. That shirt was practically a member of the Railroad and a close personal friend."

He huffs a laugh, when she puts her hand on his chest and pushes him back onto the bed. He stays there, arms wide, watching. Just to cover up the raised eyebrow and the hint of a grin that threatens to turn into something else, she drops the medical mask over his face. 

"You are just insufferable. Yet somehow, I don't want to shoot you-at least, not too much just yet," Sunshine declares, flopping down next to him.

The pile of clothes has scattered somewhat, grown peaks and valleys, and she is rolled slightly more onto Deacon than she'd anticipated. He protests with a grunt, but seems to accept his arm is lost to him. It's bony under her head but it will have to do. 

"...which is _why_ I am doing this," she finishes, poking him in the ribs. 

His yelp was too obviously played up for her to feel bad. He settles too quickly to be too bothered by her teasing. "If I get caught, I'm blaming it on you, boss."

"I can live with that."

"Can you?" Deacon asks seriously.

Sunshine squinted at him. Up close, she could tell he had had work done. No one with a voice that lived in should have skin that creepily smooth in places. She wondered again, at his constantly changing clothes. She wondered at the glasses. 

"You know I'm not saying you need to get rid of all of it, right?" she asks quietly. Sequins and scarves, mixed in with the mechanic jumpsuit and the old ripped blazer, shout under her fingers as she worries at the clothes underneath them. 

Deacon was too good to flinch, but there's a pause where she thought he might have if he did. "I'm good, Sun. Don't worry about it. I'll manage." He stirs as he brushes her off. "Besides, you'll never find all my stashes, anyway."

Sunshine groaned. "Bastard. I hate you."

His smirk returned, like it rolled under a blow to show back up. "I have enough pompadours and greaser jackets to outfit _all_ your Minutemen. Not to show my cards too early here-" Deacon sits up fully, dragging his arm out from under her. When he glances back down at her, his wig (it'd seemed like a good idea at the time) is slightly askew and hilarious. "But _someone_ might want to get used to calling _me_ 'General'." 

He kissed the tip of her nose, and stood up. 

She scoffed, folding her arms behind her head. "You wouldn't know what to do with that kind of leadership if it bit you in the ass."

"Maybe. But wouldn't you like to see me try?"

"I don't know, honey. Does the word 'mutiny' mean anything to you?" 

Deacon's pout was outrageously fake as he walked backwards towards the couch. He dropped it to focus on rifling around where they'd piled the gear they'd been wearing. "That is, that's hurtful. Go outside and get me my shirt back, boss."

"And share? No thanks," she yawns, yanking an oversized jacket out from under her head and pulling it over her goosebumped skin. The sky had gone dark some time ago, outside the old hotel's window. Sunshine is hungry, but more tired than hungry. "Never gonna happen." 

Deacon finds the drink he was looking for, and unscrews the top. In profile, nothing on, he looks...soft. Vulnerable, in the dim light. She wonders how often he relaxes like this, doesn't think about what he looks like or who he should be next. She likes him very much. Something bubbles up inside the synth as she lays there, but she bites her lip. Sunny's too tired for that, right now. 

He pauses as he sees her looking at him, the drink halfway to his mouth. They're both quiet. When Deacon breaks the silence, he has to clear his throat first. 

"Good luck guessing what I'm going to look like when I wake you up tomorrow."

Sunshine pulls her legs up, her toes cold. "Sleep well, then. It's been good. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." Her eyelids are heavy. "Jackass."


End file.
